Marguerite remembered his abject words to her, when first she had seen him at the Richmond fete: he said that he had fallen into disgrace, that, having failed in his service to the Republic, he had been relegated to a subordinate position, pushed aside with contumely to make room for better, abler men.
Well! all that was a lie, of course, a cunning method of gaining access into her house; of that she had already been convinced, when Candeille provoked the esclandre which led to the challenge.
That on French soil he seemed in anything but a subsidiary position, that he appeared to rule rather than to obey, could in no way appear to Marguerite in the nature of surprise.
As the actress had been a willing tool in the cunning hands of Chauvelin, so were probably all these people around her.

Where others cringed in the face of officialism, the ex-ambassador had stepped forth as a master: he had shown a badge, spoken a word mayhap, and the man in the tent who had made other people tremble, stood up deferentially and obeyed all commands.
It was all very simple and very obvious: but Marguerite's mind had been asleep, and it was the sight of the sable-clad little figure which had roused it from its happy torpor.
In a moment now her brain was active and alert, and presently it seemed to her as if another figure--taller than those around--had crossed the barrier immediately in the wake of Chauvelin.

Then she chided herself for her fancies! It could not be her husband.

Not yet! He had gone by water, and would scarce be in Boulogne before the morning! Ah! now at last came the turn of the second-class passengers! There was a general bousculade and the human bundle began to move.

Marguerite lost sight of the tent and its awe-inspiring appurtenances: she was a mere unit again in this herd on the move.